Ephemerada!

What a beautifully sad, sadly beautiful story. And the language it's clothed in is finer than silk, finer than ermine. It's like the skin of a rare creature hunted into extinction because of its exquisite pelt. Constance and Uncle Julian and Merricat, though they are only words on the page (and now, in my memory), are hallowed misfits, special friends. I'd even wish that Merricat were a sister of mine but for the arsenic.